


a dance upon the sands

by orphan_account



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: M/M, Romance, also titled: baze watches chirrut practice and starts swooning, i love them, i want the best for them, these two watered my crops and fed my village
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 05:25:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8955781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Whenever Baze watches Chirrut practice, he gets lost in a world that he never wants to leave.





	

He watches Chirrut as he idly stirs up the sand with his boot. His cannon rests next to him, humming near his calf, close enough to grab if an enemy disturbs them. Chirrut’s weapon is on him, swinging gracefully in his grip, and Baze could forget the world around him as he watches Chirrut spin and kick if he didn’t know how unforgiving it is. Chirrut makes him come to terms with even the ugliest of deeds, and afterwards Baze's resolve to protect always grows stronger.

Chirrut’s dance is a beautiful dance, one that he only does out in the middle of the desert near the holy city. It is a dance that needs patience and skill and an open space where Chirrut can be free to leap. The pair had easily slipped past the Imperial watch guards to make their way to a quiet, but not safe, spot where they could be left to their thoughts without the background noises of screams and cries. 

“Missed a step,” Chirrut whispers, stepping back from his position and assuming a new one.

“I didn’t see anything wrong with it,” says Baze.

Chirrut turns his head toward Baze, listening to the sound of his voice and the shuffle of the sand. “You never see anything wrong with it, that’s the problem. I cannot properly be one with the Force if my partner keeps telling me I am beautiful without it.”

Baze huffs, his eyes scanning the darkness before making their way to his repeater cannon. “I speak nothing but the truth, Chirrut. But please, don’t stop practicing because of me. Continue if you must.”

Chirrut sighs, twirling his staff in his hands before hooking it behind his back. Baze feels his hands ball up into fists as Chirrut walks toward him, his blue eyes pale and unseeing. Kneeling down before him, Chirrut’s hand ghosts along one of Baze’s before he sits down next to his boots, his head tilted upward like he is stargazing.

“Remember when you used to join me? You were as graceful as a newborn calf and as deadly as fifty men. I sensed such beauty in you that I was not sure I knew how to act afterward.”

Baze feels his eyebrows furrow before he grins. “You’ve always had the strangest tastes,” he says as he unclenches his fists and sets a hand on Chirrut’s shoulder. “We should spar.”

Chirrut laughs quiety. “Whenever we spar one of us always ends up on his back.”

“Well, that’s usually the end result of sparring, Chirrut.”

“I know what you meant, Baze, as did you,” replies Chirrut, his eyebrow cocking in amusement as he continues to gaze up at the sky, only seeing the moons and stars in his imagination. “Have I been neglecting you?”

Baze sputters, uprooting the fine sand as he kicks his foot forward. “On the contrary, you never seem to leave me alone.”

He knows Chirrut can sense how tense he’s gotten, but Baze has to bite back on his words when Chirrut reaches out, searching for his hand. He takes Chirrut’s hand in his own, scarred and calloused and warm. Chirrut brings him comfort like no other, steals his breath away like a thief Baze would never scare off, and Baze doesn’t think twice about bringing Chirrut’s hand to his face and pressing his lips against the coarse skin.

“Your lips are cold,” Chirrut murmurs, taking his eyes off the sky and gazing blindly at Baze’s chin. “Perhaps a spar might help warm you up?”

Baze laughs, pressing his lips harder against the back of Chirrut’s palm before letting it go. “Finish practicing, or the Force might leave you.”

Chirrut scoffs, jumping to his feet and unhooking his staff. It slices through the air in an elegant curve as Chirrut moves his arms and legs in fluid, strong movements. His robes move with him, swirling around him like a storm. Baze watches him silently. He claps at some point which earns him a pelt of sand to his face, but Baze can’t bring himself to retaliate. Not now, and not when Chirrut looks more at home than Baze has ever seen him.

The persistent whisper of _I'm one with the Force; the Force is with me_ fills the air until it suddenly stops, and Baze realizes with a start that he had closed his eyes at some point.

He looks up at Chirrut who is standing before him with beads of sweat running down his temple. He’s flushed and even though he can’t see Baze anymore, it feels like he’s looking straight through him.

“Are you still cold?” asks Chirrut, and Baze feels a pang of longing shoot through him.

Baze stands up, resting his hands on Chirrut’s hips. “It’s nothing that a little _sparring_ won’t fix.”

Chirrut chuckles and lightly hits his shoulder, leading him further into the desert.

Baze follows, content.

**Author's Note:**

> i walked into rogue one not knowing what to expect and i left shook as hell


End file.
